The Wooden Sea

“Tom! What on earth are you doing here this early?”

Tom? Miss Garretson knew my father? Knew him so well that she called him by his first name?

“Vicki! Hey there! I should ask you the same question.”

Vicki?

She simply stood with her hands held in front of her, staring at me. She had big lips and wore too much dark lipstick. It took me a few moments to realize she was either waiting to be introduced or for both of us to stand and show we were proper gentlemen. Eventually Dad stood up but I didn’t.

“Vicki Garretson, this is Bill Clinton.”

I nodded and gave her a midrange smile. She gave me an unsubtle once-over with her eyes. It sent me back forty years to the days she used to give me another kind of visual once over: to check if my seven-year-old zipper was open or if there was breakfast jam on my Mickey Mouse Club T-shirt.

“Vicki is a teacher at our school.”

“Music theory and choir.” She said proudly and dishonestly. The only theory this toots taught was take your finger out of your nose, child, and read the notes. I loved it though—Miss Garretson was lying to impress me.

“And what do you do, Mr. Clinton?”

“Bill’s in politics,” Dad chirped, full of admiration.

“How interesting. May I sit down?”

“Sure, of course, Vicki.” He gestured to a stool where she proceeded to rest her not-small can.

We talked for a while about nothing. Miss Vicki was boring and self-involved. It was plain she liked the sound of her own voice and the trivia of her life. But my mind was only half on what was being said because I was mesmerized watching the body language going on between them: It didn’t take long to read between their lines. When I had, I started gri

After that egg hit the heated skillet of my mind and started sizzling, another dropped right after it. Why was Dad coming out of that house across the street earlier this morning? Did he have another lover over there that he visited on his insomnia rounds? The secret life of Thomas McCabe. My father—Mr. Drip Dry, cap-toed oxford shoes from Florsheim, Robert Hall suit, one whiskey before di

I wanted to hug Dad. Or at least pat him on the back, but in these circumstances that was out of the question. I loved what I had discovered and I loved him. Even more oddly it made me love my mother more for being so totally 180 degrees wrong about her beloved partner. Ma, he’s a hound!

“Tom, I’ve got to hit the road. But it has been a pleasure.” We stood up and shook hands. I remembered he didn’t give a very strong shake and there it was again after all these years. Tears came to my eyes. Shaking hands with your father. If you love him, there’s nothing greater. And I did love this man. Silently I thanked and blessed him for having had so much loving patience. For putting up with a terrible, frustrating son who had made him suffer and worry for almost twenty years. I wanted to say to Tom McCabe, I’m your kid, Fra

Instead I smiled at Victoria Garretson (Vicki—never in my life would I have addressed the woman by that name) and turned my back on Thomas McCabe for the last time.

“Bill? Excuse me, Bill?” I was on my way to the cash register when he called my name.

“Yeah, Tom?”

“Could I pay for your breakfast? I’d really like to do that.”

“Why?” Here came my tears again. I looked at Scrappy.

“Because of what you said about my son. Because maybe you’re right and I just worry too much. Because, I don’t know, it’s a nice morning and meeting you was an unexpected surprise.”

I handed him the check. “You’re a prince, Tom.”

He made a strange face. I asked if anything was wrong.

“Fra

I tried to sound cool and offhand. “Well, you said we looked alike. Pretend for a minute I am him and am saying it for real. You are a prince, Tom. Have a good life.”

“And you too, Bill.”

I couldn’t resist. “Vote for me when I run for president.”

He laughed and went back to his lover.

How does weird get weirder? I’ll tell you. Feeling pleased and lifted by what had just taken place, I left the diner smiling and cheerfully blissed out. That lasted maybe five minutes. Out the door and turn left toward the heart of downtown Crane’s View—all one block of it. Curious to know what would be there, I tried to remember what Main Street had looked like then. My town, thirty years ago. How much had they charged at the Embassy Movie Theater for a ticket? How much had a box of Goobers chocolate-covered peanuts cost at their candy counter? What were the names of the different candy they sold? Charleston Chew, Zagnut, Raisinets, Good & Plenty, Fifth Avenue... Retarded Joh

A man wearing one of those helmets that had kebab’d my brain. The learning helmets from my last days in Vie